The Queen of the Ice and Snow
by Queen Tabitha Tall
Summary: It was not the winter that they loved. And She did not love at all. But the Queen of the Ice and Snow moves as she pleases, and now they will find themselves in the midst of the longest winter of their lives...
1. The beginning

**Author's Note: This is my retelling of the Snow Queen, which is a fairy tale that I enjoy very much. I got the general idea from FaylinnNorse (who, by the by, rocks my socks) and her Snow Queen story, but this one's going to take a bit of a different turn than the original. It's my first real fanfic story so…YAY FOR BRUTAL CRITICISM!! But please nothing TOO harsh, for the sake of my poor li'l sensitive soul **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Snow Queen. That would be good ol' Hans Hans. He's a very nice man and amazing storyteller and you should ask him about it. Anyway, here it is…**

_I am cold._

It wasn't a surprise. Cold was not a stranger to her thin, white body. To her eyes of black. To her heart of stone. She'd invited it in, and it had come to stay.

_I am cold._

But it never got better, being cold to her bones and never warming up. She never got used to the numbness of her fingertips, the ice in her eyes, the dull throbbing in her soul. It never got easier, not being able to feel happiness. Not being able to feel anything.

_I am cold_

She was Queen of her dominion. Every last speck was hers to control. It served her everything she could ever want. It gave her the cold beauty that brought grown men to their knees.

Stupid things, men were. Stupid.

_I hate them._

She held on to it, this hate that rested eternally in the pit of her graceful stomach. It was the last thing she could feel. It reminded her that she was alive.

She'd held it for so long she didn't remember why. God knows she didn't feel the pain anymore. She didn't feel anything except the hate. But oh! How she felt the hate. It was always there, a frozen lump in her abdomen, a black haze in her mind, a pounding that was just a bit louder than the throbbing in her soul.

The hate kept her living. It made her the majestic creature she was. The Lady of the land. The Queen of the Ice and Snow. It was just the way it should be.

_I wanted it this way. I am beautiful. I am powerful. I feel no pain._

_I am so cold._

It wasn't the winter that they'd fallen in love with. Not winter, with its biting, nasty cold, or its darkness that came so early, or the time it took Tom Landon's daddy away. That nasty winter that brought ice and dullness and death. Though they enjoyed making snowmen and their counterparts the snow angels, though sledding provided a seasonal thrill, though it brought pink to their noses and cheeks, they did not love this darkest of seasons. Though snow is beautiful, it is also chilling. Though cold is exciting, it is also dangerous. Not even the entrancing crystalline pictures that the frost drew on the windows were enough to persuade them to give their love to it. The winter was not for them.

It was the summer that they loved. When the early morning sunshine bid the roses to open, and climb the trellis between their houses. The flowers bloomed and relished the warmth, and the animals were busy and content. There they could sit amongst the friendly flowers or leafy treetops and enjoy the seasonal freedom from their heavy coats. They could swing their toes in the warm breezes and throw things to the funny dogs below them. It was in summer when his skin got so brown and ruddy and healthy. It was summer when her white hair reflected the hot sun of the noontide.

_Strange hair, that little girl has_, some of the people whispered, _it is_ _white as the snow in December._ _Strange little white-headed girl._

They weren't nice to her, those Whispering People. Not nice in any season, especially in the nasty days of the dark winter, when the cold seemed to worsen their bitter moods. Sometimes they would look at her with their mouths hard and their lips twisted. Their eyebrows would leap high on their foreheads, and their eyes would shout at her: "Go away, you strange little white-headed girl!" And when she had gone they would whisper some more:

_She didn't get it from her father, rest his_ _soul…_

…_His was brown as a mouse…_

… _Her Wretched Mother must have had good crop of hair…_

And they would whisper till they could think of nothing more to say.

Kay didn't care what those Whispering People said. Whoever she got her hair from didn't change the fact that she could kick a ball as far as he could, or fight like twenty armies, or run faster than the strong East Wind. It didn't change the fact that she liked getting muddy, and forgot to care about the cleanliness of her apron, or that she agreed with him that shoes should only be accepted when mandatory. It didn't change that her dog was his favorite of any in town. In his opinion, if her Wretched Mother's hair did anything at all, it was to make her easy to find in their games of hide-and-seek.

And that was joy, as best he knew it: running barefoot in the summer, not caring for cold, nor frost, nor icicle. When they could splash in the river and roll down grassy hills. When the clouds were fat and lazy and looked like strange white animals. It wasn't like the winter, when the fish were frozen and would not bite. Winter always bid them to wear heavy boots and itchy coats. Winter swept through the town and made their faces hurt with the cold. And sometimes, it was so white and snowy that he couldn't see her.

Sometimes,in the dull days of the season, she did it on purpose; she'd hide behind her white hair and make him search for her in the snow-covered forest. Once, when they were eight, it took him a whole hour, and he'd passed her several times before he finally saw her.

"I've found you, Gerda, so I have!" he called playfully, "Come on, you strange little white-headed girl! I'm blue in the lips, and it's time to go home!"

It became their game in the dark days of the winter -- the winter that they did not love – to shout it at one another when the day was dying.

"I've found you, Gerda, so I have!" He would call, "Come on, you strange little white-headed girl!"

The wind would carry her high-pitched laughter as she called back, "I'm blue in the lips, and it's time to go home!"

The two little friends would then clasp hands, and the winter would not seem so dreadful.


	2. The Shoes

_Chapter 2_

Gerda didn't remember her father. She had heard, from the Whispering People who thought she wasn't listening, that his hair was as brown as a mouse, and that his eyebrows were furry and that his eyes were ice blue, just like hers and Grandmother's. She knew from the painting above the fireplace that he was handsome and broad-shouldered, and had a strong jaw and soft eyes. Grandmother said that his voice sounded soft and full of laughter. Gerda didn't remember the sound of his voice, nor the feel of his huge hands, nor the warmth of his fatherly hug on a dark winter day. The picture on the wall did little to inform her of his likes and dislikes, of his sense of humor, or whether he favored the summer or the winter.

Shedidn't understand why she felt so lonely for him, even when she'd never known him. On those days, she would sit by the fireplace and look at his picture and put on the shoes.

Those shoes.

Those beautiful shoes were red and shiny. The leather was slick and the thread was fine. She sat for long hours, running her tiny fingers over their fine, delicate toes, loving the way her hot breath made them shine, imagining her father on the day of her birth, when he laid them beside her in her cradle. Grandmother said he'd had tears in his eyes that day, when he'd given her the finest present she'd ever gotten.

"Those are lovely shoes," her grandmother had said, "the finest I've ever seen."

"She's worth it," her father had whispered.

On those dark, lonely days, she would whisper it to herself as she polished the shoes by the fireplace.

"She's worth it…She's worth it…I'm worth it…"

Kay had seen the shoes many times. She wore them every Easter from when she was five until she was twelve, and her feet got too big.

"Those are pretty shoes, Gerda," he would say, after the usual Easter greetings

"Thank you," she'd answer prettily, "my Daddy got them for me." And he knew that, for once, she felt just like all the other little girls.

Once, when they were ten, another little girl noticed how nice the shoes were. Natasha Federova loved pretty things. Everyone told her she was pretty--pretty like a porcelain doll, with wide blue eyes and charming golden hair. It seemed fitting to her that pretty girls and pretty things should stick together. So one day, when Gerda was waiting for Kay outside of the village school, Natasha told her that they were going to be friends.

"We are friends now, Gerda," she said, "and we shall play and have fun and be best friends forever."

"W-We are?" stammered Gerda, incredulous, "We shall? I have never—"

"Yes. We shall," Natasha cut in, "And we shall start today. Come on, Gerda, let's play by those trees! "

Kay felt the tiniest bit lonely that day, as Gerda whispered with Natasha and only occasionally looked towards him.

That day, Grandmother was ecstatic that little Gerda was finally making new friends. When the two skipped hand-in-hand toward the house to ask if Natasha might stay for a while, she was only too happy to give her "Of course!"

Two days after their friendship began, Kay, Gerda and Natasha were playing in the town square, looking for treasures on the sidewalk. Kay found a spare charcoal stick (which he could use for drawing), Natasha found a piece of tin (which she could use to make a necklace), and Gerda found a pink stone that had been polished until it was smooth.

"That's a pretty rock, Gerda," Natasha said, eyeing it hungrily, "I should like to have it."

Gerda folded her hands toward her little chest, "B-but…I only just found it…"

"Give it here, Gerda," Natasha said sternly, holding out her hand.

"But…it's _my_ rock…"

Upon this little protest, Natasha's eyes grew large and greedy. Her mouth grew prim, and her voice grew low as she spoke:

"Give me the stone, Gerda, or I shall never be your friend again."

Gerda, panicking at the thought of losing a friend after she had waited so long to make one, blinked back tears and dropped her treasure without another word.

"Thank you," Natasha said, once again cheerful.

Their friendship continued that way for weeks, with Natasha giving orders and Gerda quickly submitting. In the rare case that Gerda ever protested, Natasha would ask again two or three times, and if she still persisted, Natasha would square her shoulders and jaw and say "Do it, or I shall never be your friend again." And Gerda would hasten to get it done. Natasha had long dismissed Kay after he refused to give her the picture he'd drawn of Gerda's dog ("Next she'll be asking for my house!"), and he really only stayed around the girls to keep Gerda from doing anything stupid. Girls were prone to do that, you know.

One day, when the three played in the parlor of Gerda's house near the fireplace that made them forget about the chill outside, Natasha laid eyes on the red treasures on the bureau. Her eyes grew large and hungry and her little mouth slowly parted.

They were absolutely beautiful.

The sly little girl managed to control her greed for a while. She contained herself until it was time to go home and the two other children were escorting her outside towards the street. But sly as she was, she was still a _little_ girl, and the raging hunger that she felt inside became too big for her to keep any longer. So, squaring her shoulders once more, Natasha turned to the white-haired girl.

"Those are pretty shoes, Gerda," she said sweetly.

Gerda's head jerked away from her previous conversation. Her blue eyes showed fear as she panicked at the familiar words said about her treasures. "Thank you…" she began, warily.

Natasha continued: "I should like to have them."

Kay widened his eyes a little.

Gerda widened hers as well. "Those…" she hesitated, speaking slowly, "…those are special shoes, Natasha …"

Natasha did not seem sympathetic. "Go and fetch them. Please."

Gerda drew in a small, shaky breath. "I've had them since I was a little baby…"

"Give them to me, Gerda," Natasha ordered, cutting her off, "I want them."

"…B-but Natasha, my _daddy_ gave me those shoes…"

Natasha was unmoved. Once again, she squared her shoulders and jaw and announced with a stony expression on her pretty little face: "If you don't do it, I shall never be your friend again. Now, let me have those shoes. "

Gerda looked down in mourning at the snow-covered ground, drawing in a shaky little breath. Natasha smiled cruelly as Gerda's white hair began to slide over her face, which she buried into the high collar of her coat, and they heard a few sniffling sounds as she began to cry a little, very quietly. They stood that way for some time, Kay angry and unsure of what to do, and Natasha growing more and more impatient. But after a particularly deep breath, they were surprised to hear a new sound come, different from the rest of the miserable sniffles, muffled through the layers of clothes and white hair.

"No," Gerda almost whispered.

Natasha blinked. For a moment she seemed unsure. She whirled on Kay, using this as one of the rare times she would deem him worthy of speech. "She says what?"

Kay's mouth began to twist into something close to an antagonizing smile. Whatever Gerda thought of Natasha, he was not afraid of her, and if there was one thing he wouldn't stand for it was having to greet _her_ every Easter. He stood coolly in front of her, infuriatingly calm and unafraid.

"I think," he said, his tone condescending, "She says 'no.'"

Gerda looked slightly upwards and quickly nodded her affirmation. "No," she repeated.

Natasha whirled again, this time on Gerda. "You…" She growled as she hunched down to closed in on the other little girl, "You do not want to give those shoes to me?"

Gerda's ice blues eyes grew huge and wide as she looked up at Natasha. "No," she said, very quietly.

Natasha's eyes grew menacing, and her voice grew loud. Her speech became halting and patronizing. Sweet mask cast off, she shouted the words at Gerda's round face.

"I…don't…_CARE_ if you want to give 'em or not! I _want_ those shoes! And _you_ are _ugly_ and _white-headed! AND _you have a _DEAD PAPA!!"_

Kay and Gerda both let out a gasp. Along the street, a few faces peeked out of their doorways, investigating all the noise. Natasha stood, breathing heavily and evilly reveling in the blow she had just dealt. A mean smile began to draw across her face and her eyes were cruel as she glared at the smaller girl before her.

But something strange was happening in Gerda. She stood, devastated by the insult, her little body seeming to wilt. But after a quiet moment, hurt was not the only emotion that emanated from her. Her breathing became deep and purposeful; her little mouth set itself into a stern frown. Her shoulders began to straiten, and she began to draw herself to her full height. Her face scrunched itself into a livid glare, and in the depths of her eyes, something formed that was cold, hard, resentful.

Like ice.

When she spoke, her voice was low and gray, more angry than even Kay had ever heard it. "Y-you…" she began, "…you…are _MEAN_, Natasha Federova! You are _MEAN_ to say those things about me!" her voice began to grow louder, "And you are _TERRIBLE_ to say those things about my Daddy! And those are _MY_ red shoes, and they will _ALWAYS_ be _MY_ red shoes!" She screamed the words now, spitting them out like bile, "And I am _HAPPY_ that I'm keeping them, because I like _THEM_ a whole lot better than I like _YOU_!!"

She finished with a little finger rigid in the face of her incredulous former best friend.

More faces now poked around the doorways of the neighborhood, disturbed at the noise. Their eyes grew large as they saw the children in the street. Those who had seen the spectacle began to whisper.

…_Did you hear that?_

…_awfully loud…._

…_Strange little white-headed girl…_

Natasha blinked a few times, utterly speechless at the outburst. She opened her mouth, and then closed it. And she opened it once more. Then, gathering her pride (she had plenty), she hissed out the nastiest words she could come up with.

"Fine!" she spat, "Keep your red shoes! I wouldn't want anything belonging to a _freak_!" then, so only Gerda and Kay could hear, she hissed, " You keep those shoes! They're worth _twice_ as much as you are!"

And with a last, haughty huff of breath, she turned on her heel and marched away, pretty gold curls bouncing, reveling in the attention of the stares that followed her down the street. She was, indeed a lovely little girl, and looked even better with her shoulders thrown back and her nose in the air.

That is, her nose _was_ in the air, before a perfect and well-aimed snowball _smack!-_ed against the back of her head. Then it was down in the snow bank.

When she looked up, there was no sign of the two little friends who had been there moments earlier. The two little friends who were, at that moment, feeling that the winter did not seem so dreadful.


	3. The Queen

_Chapter 3_

_Snow._

It was the first thing she saw when her black eyes opened, when she faced the dawning of the heartless sun and accepted that there would be another day. Not that she had been sleeping. Sleep was no longer a friend of hers. It hadn't been in many years. Her nights were long. Cold. Biting.

Just like her days.

She rose swiftly and gracefully from her icy perch, her shoulders thrown back and her chin high against the chill of the air. Her hard, cruel eyes surveyed the cavern in which she spent her hours. Tall, wiry henchmen made of jagged ice stood tirelessly, clinking softly as they leered from side to side. When their gaze caught any movement, they lashed out with the cruel, cold spears that were eternally in their claws. She did not smile at their precise aim, or their endless stamina. She did not smile at all. Instead, she marched gracefully down the steps, ignoring the lovely flowers of frost that sprang up inside her footprints. She snapped her fingers and her guards followed her.

Her back was ramrod-strait, as it had been for the last she-didn't-remember-how-many years. It did not give her pain as she strode through the pale halls of her palace, into the blinding sun of her courtyard. Here, the trees were naked and dead. More wraith-like henchmen stood guard around the frosty patches of what used to be greenery. She surveyed it with a small nod of her beautiful head and continued on her way, through the courtyard and winding hallways to her throne room.

It was filled with crystalline walls and pillars. Snowdrifts gracefully lined the blue-carpeted path that led up the steps to her immense throne of ice. And everywhere, everywhere there was space, were intricate ice carvings. They stood tall and frozen, gazing upon anyone who entered with melancholy stares. In one, two women hid their faces in each other's shoulders. In another, a man blocked his face with his arm, his mouth open and twisted into a scream. Another old man sat defeated on his knees, his sightless eyes filled with frozen tears. Many infants sprawled in a horrid and icy display.

She did not give them a glance as she glided to her throne, as she always did. When she sat upon it, her back was strait and erect, and her haughty eyes surveyed her subjects. Her eyes glinted more than usual today, her subjects noticed. She was becoming restless much earlier this year. The ice people glanced nervously at one another, their eyes locked in silent conversation.

_What is she up to?_

The corner of her beautiful mouth twitched upwards, as if she guessed what they were thinking. In a movement that was both seductive and terrifying, she shook her billowing white hair from her shoulders and uttered a word in a voice like sleet.

"Timekeeper," she commanded.


End file.
